Sing For Me
by Rathloriel
Summary: During our time, a woman finds comfort in the most unlikeliest of people... Maglor, OFC.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** During our time, a woman finds comfort in the most unlikeliest of people... (Maglor/OFC).

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Silmarillion... :sigh: I'm not clever enough to invent such fantastic stories, which is why I do fanfiction and mooch off other authors and their writing.

**A/N:** I don't know if anyone else has tried this type of mini-ficlet before, but I thought I would give it a go and see how people liked it. It will only be a few chapters long. Constructive feedback would be greatly appreciated!

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**Sing For Me.**

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_'He came never back among the people of the Elves..'_

**- Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath -**

**- The Silmarillion -**

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There it was again.

That voice...

She had heard it every day for the past week. The tenor echoed through the passages of her quiet beach-front home and though she didn't understand the words, it felt as if a heavy burden had been placed upon her shoulders whenever she listened to the mournful tune. How an unidentifiable song could have such an effect, she had no idea. But when the last verses were sung and the voice drifted away, carried off into the humid air towards the slowly sinking sun, it left her feeling melancholic and somewhat depressed.

With that haunting song, her retreat from life and the grievances she carried from the past year were all brought to the forefront.

Her book forgotten, she rose from her mother's rocking chair and strolled through the dimly lit corridor, towards the kitchen at the rear of the house. Even with all the windows shut, the voice still managed to penetrate through the glass and she knew she would have to do something before she let her frustration and sorrow cloud her better judgement.

Quietly, she gazed out of the kitchen window that offered her a view of the blossoming rainbow-coloured garden before it joined with the white-shore beach and the churning ocean beyond.

Of course, nothing was there save for the muffled cries of gulls flying and circling around one another in the orange-tinted sky.

Nothing was there; no one was there.

She was alone. Again.

Many times, she thought she was imagining the voice. But the song seemed too real to be conjured from the tattered fabric of her mind. She was tired. Tired of thinking, tired of breathing, tired of living.

Tired of _being_.

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The cool sea breeze ruffled the tight curls of her gradually greying auburn hair. Mouth set into a hard line, jaw clenched impassively, she stared at the rippling azure waves that shimmered beneath the sun. Lines peppered the corners of her mouth, the corners her earthy brown eyes; a sign of her joyful past and the coming days of her future sorrow.

Another week, another day and she waited... Waited for the despairing song to begin again.

_Her_ song.

Movement in the corner of her eye forced her to break the binding spell that had been cast upon her by the deceiving sea. She turned and looked. And found nothing. Saline tears blurred her vision as she rose from the damp sand of the deserted beach; it clung to her backside in sticky granules.

"_Why do you weep, my lady?"_ The voice whispered. The voice that sang, but she could not understand the words.

She whirled around, flailing about as if lost in the dark. Like a scared child with no hope, no faith to keep her tied to the circles of the world. Her wearied bones creaked and groaned like an old, decayed tree bending to the majesty of an unwavering gale.

And then, she saw him.

The man that embodied the voice. He came forth like a vision in a dream; a mirage of timelessness and decadence.

But, no. Not a man.

She looked closer, her muddy eyes narrowing. Gods, he was breathtaking. More than breathtaking. He was ethereally removed, like something taken from the pages of a myth. A tall creature he was, swathed in blue and black; cloth from another time, another world. Piercing grey eyes delved into her own, touching the corners of her soul and she resisted the urge to recoil. She could not breath under his gaze. Her eyes began to wander and she gazed upon the darkest of silky sable hair as it draped down around his broad shoulders to the lithe muscular chest. Startled, she barely registered the delicate points of his ears and the perfect shape of his almond eyes.

No lines creased his face, no mark marred his flawlessly pale skin.

Utterly untouchable.

She drank him in. She devoured his beauty as though she had been starved from birth; from the luscious pouting mouth, to the knee-quivering squared jaw. The narrow waist and strong legs clad in some form of leggings... She took it all in and looked upon the body of the voice that had tormented her for endless hours before this day.

How could something – someone - so beautiful, be the cause of so much grief?

Her gaze drifted back to the disconcerting grey eyes that examined her with an equally shrewd gaze. They shimmered with hidden amusement and barely concealed despair and grief.

"Is this a dream?" She roused from her slumber to speak. Her whispering voice seemed fragile, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings against the raging wind.

The man... no, creature, cocked his head thoughtfully, as though he were contemplating her words. He shrugged gracefully and waved his hand, as if to say he did not understand.

He spoke.

But she could not fathom his words.

The lack of understanding left her feeling bereft. Bereft of hope. "Please tell me you understand what I'm saying," she pleaded, her words quivering with unimaginable pain.

Again, he tilted his head the other way, thoughtfully and almost inquisitively as he registered her own sorrow collapsing around her. He opened his mouth and murmured some words, ending with, "..._Maglor."_

But gradually, he faded from her vision before he could speak another word in his beautiful, lilting voice.

And she was alone. Again.

Her questionable sanity swamped through her veins once more and she fell to the ground, to her knees. It _was_ a dream. It had to be.

It couldn't be anything else, because she promised herself that it would stop. She would stop seeing these visions given to her by an unforeseen force of power. She _had_ stopped. She didn't want them any more, she had blocked them. Fifteen years without them... So why were they starting again? Why could she see things that no one else claimed to see? It was unfair. It was horrid and cruel.

It was frightening.

However, deep within her soul, she knew it was her own mourning heart that had broken the steady barrier she had erected between herself and her visions.

The fading cry of gulls in the background pulled her away from the danger of drowning in her thoughts.

How long she remained by the sea, she did not know.

But her heavy sobs lingered in the air with uncertainty. Her tears fell like an endless torrent of rain upon the minuscule grains of pale sand that were threaded with strands of deep green seaweed. And she watched; watched as her tears were absorbed before they disappeared.

Just like the creature from her vision.

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_Reviews are welcome._


	2. Chapter 2

**Note:** This beginning of this chapter has adult situations - nothing graphic. Thanks to; _Fran_, _The Last Temptation of Homer_, _AnnaMariah_ and _Nimphelos_ for reviewing, your opinions are greatly appreciated :)

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**Sing For Me.**

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"_Marry me?"_

_Her eyes shot open and she raised herself onto her elbows, looking down at the head of messy dark hair resting on her naked stomach. _

_Chin propped against her belly-button, his clear blue eyes as bright as the morning sky peered back at her with amusement. _

"_W-what?" She stuttered._

_He smiled. "Will. You. Marry. Me?" With each word, he kissed the bared flesh of her supple stomach, neither muscled nor toned. Just right._

_Breath caught in her throat, tears came to her eyes. "Are you... sure?"_

"_I've never been surer of anything in my life... Darlin'." _

_She laughed gleefully as he huskily voiced her ridiculous nick-name with his beautiful accent; a voice that held a rugged Southern twang. _

_It sent a tremor down her spine._

"_You haven't answered my question," he prompted, still amused as he slowly crawled up over her body like a daring panther, his rough skin sliding against her damp frame as he left a trail of heated kisses in his wake._

_Their bodies twisted and twined together in the soiled sheets, like two serpents coiling around one another. He nestled himself between her parted thighs, kissed her deeply and drew back. Anticipation, excitement, hope and fear sparkled within his eyes. All rolled into one neat little package as he looked down at her._

_He was worried about rejection._

_She was in love._

_Slowly, she pulled his lips close to hers and murmured the word that would change her life forever. "Yes. The answer is, yes."_

_Chuckling, he breathed a sigh of relief and lost himself within her._

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Tears from the painful, dredged up memory mingled with the cool spray of the outdoor shower in her backyard. She shook them away, moving her head like a hound that had been drenched from head to tail. Although she cried, she could not feel anything. No pain, no sadness... Nothing. She was utterly numb. And she supposed she had medication to thank for that.

Beneath the noise of running water, she could hear the faded sound of the gentle sea-waves pushing forward and receding from the white shore beyond her garden. She lathered and soaped herself thoroughly, removing the sand and dry, salty water that clung to her from her short swim.

Feeling cleaner, she turned the nob, stilling the steady stream of water before reaching for the fluffy blue towel that was perched on a hook protruding from the wall. She sighed heavily and wiped her face before wrapping it around her body tightly, cocooning herself from the golden rays of sunlight that shone down without remorse.

She turned. And almost screamed.

It was _him_. The handsome, beautiful creature from the vision she had a week prior. Only now, he did not seem like a vision. He looked more... real, and slightly more solid. Like he was really there, but still somewhat removed from the harsh, coarse world. Though he was still no less beautiful and no less awe-inspiring with his height and stature.

For a week since she last saw him, she had heard his lilting voice singing with sorrow and despair every evening - but he hadn't shown himself again. Until now.

Oddly enough, she wasn't as frightened or desperate as she had been the first time she saw him. She should have been, given the circumstances and embarrassing situation at present. But she had long ago resigned herself to the fact she was slowly losing her mind; hearing things and seeing things that were out of the ordinary. It must be the anti-depressants she had been advised to take.

She sighed.

Insanity was _such _an inconvenience.

She _would_ have screamed and felt anger, but the creature was not even looking at her. His head was tilted again like an inquisitive bird as he examined something. Her eyes followed his perplexed grey gaze that was fixed above and over her shoulder.

He was staring at the shower-head with something akin to awe.

Immediately, she knew that he had no clue as to what it was. It was obvious from the confounded expression on his face. But she still found it deeply disturbing that he did not know about such things.

She cleared her throat nervously and froze as his eyes snapped back to her; it felt as if she had been slapped when he abruptly looked at her. But a smile almost tugged at her lips as she saw him grow flustered by her towel-clad apparel and – unsurprisingly – he blushed before he turned suddenly. He stalked away from her, muttering to himself in an inconceivable language as he strode down the garden path, towards the gate that separated it from the sandy shore.

As he walked away and left her, she felt her breath come in shuddering, disbelieving gasps. Now that she could no longer see him, she immediately felt shock and fear crash through her without warning.

_What was he?_

So many questions and no answers! It was idiotic but she felt as if she _knew_ who he was. Or that she should know. Why she felt this, she did not know, nor could she guess at it. But it made her extremely fearful and again, question her sanity. If she did not know any better, she would have thought she was already locked up and tucked away inside a nice, sterile mental asylum.

But that was certainly not the case.

Trembling, she ran into the house to change; determined to solve the mystery that had been presented to her.

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She opened the back door and found him standing at the outside shower again.

His eyes were wide with disbelief as he turned the nob; left to right, right to left. He did not seem to notice her or that he was getting drenched in the process of turning the shower on and off. He was going to ruin his odd but intricately stitched clothing...

Walking towards him apprehensively, she knew she would have to end this. She would have to end these disastrous visions and get to the bottom of this man's appearance. She would have to end his damnable singing, for it stabbed at her heart - like a thousand knives tearing into the shell of her soul. "Excuse me?"

The creature stopped his motions and turned to her, straightening as he gathered his dignity and hid his curiosity. Which was nicely done, considering he was drenched from head to toe.

He said something to her, but she could not understand what he was saying.

"Wait!" She held up her hand in frustration and shook her head. "I don't understand what you're saying."

A sad expression came to her face as she remembered the first time she saw him and wished to speak with him. She had been particularly emotional that day, having thought she could endure the pain of grieving without anti-depressants, but she had been wrong. Now, with a clearer – albeit drugged – mind, she could gather enough strength to deal with this _thing's _presence and get to the bottom of his sudden appearance.

He spoke again, this time softly, and bowed. "_Forgive me for intruding on you in such a manner._"

She started, shocked that she could suddenly understand his words.

His voice was heavily accented; unlike anything she had ever heard before. It was musical in quality, almost as if he was singing, but she could sense the underlying bitterness that clung to the words. What he felt so bitter about, she did not know. The eerie thing about her understanding his words, was the fact that she had translated them in her mind. If she thought hard about it and focused, she realised that he was still speaking in his own language. How this was capable of happening, was completely beyond her.

Again, she thought she was slowly losing her sanity - one painful day at a time.

"Do you know what I'm saying?"

The creature listened to her words and paused for a brief moment before nodding slowly and replying in his own tongue. "Yes_, my lady. Do you...?"_ He trailed off as she nodded.

She understood him, he understood her; though neither of them were speaking the same language.

If now was the time to panic, she would have. But there was something important she _needed_ to do. And that was find out the identity of this creature that had appeared before her like mist upon the ground. "Who are you?" She asked softly but desperately. "_What_ are you? And more importantly, why are you here and what do you want?"

"_So many questions; I forget how impatient mortals are!" _He smiled sadly, still eyeing the shower from the corner of his gaze. "_I go by many names. But you may call me Maglor. I am one of the Eldar; an Elf..._"

Her gaze sharpened, and she interrupted. "... An elf?" Incredulous, she looked at his face and then his delicately pointed ears. His height and build. She blanched. "I thought elves were supposed to be small faerie creatures?"

The _elf _named Maglor almost chuckled. "_I am certainly not small, nor am I a faerie creature, my lady. But I assure you, I am an elf..._" He trailed off and turned towards the shower-head almost furtively. "_How is it that you have rain in there? Is there a cloud inside?_" He turned back and looked at her innocently. There was no deceit in his eyes.

He honestly thought there was a cloud in the shower-head.

She blinked, hiding her grimace and smile that threatened to show itself.

She really was losing her mind.

A heavy sigh fell from her lips as she looked at his sodden form, still handsome even though he was soaked to the skin. With a shake of her head, she frowned deeply and sighed.

It was going to be a _long_ day.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Note:** In response to a few queries, this is a modern-day fiction (takes place in 2006). Although I like _some_ of the WW1/2 Maglor stories, there are enough of them going around and I wanted to do something a little more original and different - I hope. Thanks to; _AnnaMariah _and _Ceana _for reviewing :)

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**Sing For Me.**

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A cloud.

A cloud in the shower-head.

Quaint and unassuming, only a person who had never seen a shower before could make such a logical guess. Someone from the past? Someone from another world? Someone... Regardless, it was endearing and adorably sweet to believe that _anyone_ could have managed to harness a cloud and actually put it into a shower-head.

But that didn't mean she still wasn't wary of her vision brought to life. Her elf.

Elves - tall, beautiful, awe-inspiring elves – certainly didn't exist.

Or did they?

There was _so_ much undiscovered in the world. Science and technology was still relatively new in this young and modern civilisation. A throw-away culture had morphed into a hideous, twisted creature that heaved and breathed beneath the surface, waiting for that one pure moment when it could devour the countless cities that swarmed with people - people trapped in the daily grind of their lives, like busy-bees gathering nectar to push them forward. To push them into living for another day.

Corruption, commercialism, capitalism – money - growth and expansion were at the forefront, and if you looked very closely... Only a few people were enamoured by the inexplicable.

The universe, the past, evolution... religion. Those were the inexplicable. One could ask; why does a flower blossom in the sunlight? Why do so many rich, ancient civilisations disappear like rainbows fading against a candy-blue sky? Or what happens when a body can no longer house a soul... Is a soul even real? Can it be weighed - and if it can - is it only twenty-one grams?

So... how much do people really _know_ about the world?

The knowledge gained about the past and preternatural was simply an assumption. A logical guess; like clouds in a shower-head. Therefore the facts of life that people have, are a guess made by those who only _think_ they understand such things. After all, no-one could have known that she had been plagued with odd visions in her early childhood and adult life. Many would dismiss the phenomena altogether, and others clung to it desperately, as if nothing else could offer them solace from the reality of their existence.

So perhaps elves _were_ real. Because right now, he was here. Standing in front of her and waiting for an answer. _He was here_. This _elf_ who thought that a cloud was inside her shower. And he was patiently waiting for an answer. One that she did not know how to give.

"There - there isn't a cloud inside that," she finally said, gesturing at the shower-head. "It's hard to explain, but the water is fed through a pipe which is connected to a system that brings it... here," she finished lamely.

The elf frowned deeply. Beautifully.

He seemed more confused and melancholy than ever before.

There was so much pain... So much heartache. Gods, it was too much! It clamped down on her like rusted steel jaws, drawing blood and infecting the desolate wound in her beating organ. A wound that would never heal. How she wished she could wrap herself around him; trap him in her embrace and shield him from the absolute torment that swam in his clear, grey eyes. Her grief seemed inconsequential compared to his.

He looked... Lost.

She _felt_ lost; but at least she had the comfort of knowing that she could find herself again, if she looked. This creature... this creature was drowning in uncertainty and despair.

Heart pounding in her ears, she licked her lower lip and took a halting step forward. Towards him and towards his pain; towards his life.

But before she could near him, the electronic buzz of her telephone pierced through the silence.

The creature snapped to attention and looked through the open back-door of her house with wide, enquiring eyes. Immediately, his utter despair was shielded and the loss of it drenched her, like a cold pail of water flung into her face. She stepped back and noted that his eyes were still fixed on the source of the sound.

Fantastic. Another thing she would have to explain.

She felt torn. Should she leave his side and fear that he would disappear? Or should she remain and speak with him instead?

"_That sound is hurting my ears._" The elf winced, looking at her once more.

Not knowing whether to laugh or cry at his twisted expression, she decided to end his misery. "Follow me." And without another word, or glance, she turned towards the house.

A hand upon her shoulder halted her. Shifting, she looked up questioningly as the elf moved to her side and held out his arm for her.

She stared at the offered appendage as if it were serpent, coiled and ready to strike.

He smiled, amused. But the joy of that smile did not reach his eyes.

Carefully, she hooked her arm through his and led him into her house. The first touch between elf and human. It sent a ghostly chill through her and she knew; knew that she had touched what no other human had the privilege to do so before this day. But who could have known that an elf would possess such gentlemanly manners? The action felt timeless and brimmed with chivalry that melted her heart.

She could hear her mother's voice already; _that one's a keeper, missy, don't let him get away_.

Smiling sadly at the thought of her beloved, deceased mother, she chanced a glance up at her companion. He looked terribly uncomfortable due to the sound of her phone, as he stooped his magnificent height to enter the doorway of her home. Only then did it hit her how small she was in comparison to him. And only then did it occur to her that she would need to be careful. His naivety and innocence about the world was one thing; but how much did she truly know about him? What was his story?

She knew that he was an elf and that his name was _Maglor_. But that was all.

Yes. She could have to be _very_ careful

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Nearing the phone, she left Maglor standing in the doorway of her living room. He had raised his hands to his ears and was almost glaring at the phone murderously; as if it was some kind of enemy that needed to be vanquished.

Dappled light streamed into the small family room as it faced eastwards, towards a small gravel path that was occasionally used by tourists, cyclists and other ramblers that enjoyed the quiet sea-front.

Seeing his obvious discomfort, she quickly picked up the cordless phone and ended his torment by pressing the green button and raising it to her ear. "Hello?"

"_Hi, Mom. It's me._" The cool, masculine voice of her son echoed mildly within the folds of her ear.

She winced. "Hi... how are you?"

There was an awkward pause. "_I'm good. You?_" Worry laced the words and she almost smiled. He was such a good boy.

"I'm holding up. The beach-house your father purchased for our retirement is exactly what I needed. It feels good to get away from... Everything."

"_It's been a year, Mom,_" her son admonished quietly.

She looked at Maglor as he circled the small room, staring at family photos and other knick knacks on the mantel piece that made the house feel like a _home_. Once his inspection had ended, he perched himself quietly on the leather sofa and bounced on it slightly. As he continued to bounce and wiggle around, the sight almost made her want to burst out laughing as she hadn't done in the past year. How precious! He was like a small child being introduced to the wonders of the world. Taking his first step; the first of many.

She returned her attention to the conversation. "I know it's been a year, Alex. But like I said, I'm holding up and it becomes easier every day. I suppose that's all we can do; take it one day at a time.

Another pause. She hated the way her family would tip-toe around her. She hated that she felt so estranged from her son... Her beautiful, 21 year-old son who had the looks and brains of his father. Her husband. Her other-half; her soul. Now gone forever, to a place where she couldn't follow, unless...

"_Nina_ _misses you; and so do I._"

Honesty. Now that's _exactly_ what she preferred. "Your sister sure has a funny way of showing it. But I understand. It's almost spring break and I hope you'll both come and visit me. Unless your grandfather has already funded your trip to Cancun." The reprimand was there, but she knew with certainty that he would ignore it.

It was sad, but her children were spoilt little cretins, born into a wealthy family - they wanted for nothing. They were given their hearts' desires and she could admit to occasionally indulging them. But that was a consequence one had to suffer when their father's side of the family had money to burn.

"_Sure, I'll talk to her and see what she's got planned_."

"I know that Nina is busy with her sorority and other inane things you teenagers get up to, but it would be nice to hear from her once in awhile..." She sighed. "How are things with you? Are your professors working you hard?"

Her son chuckled wryly. "_Remind me again why I decided to go to Harvard?_"

"Because you're a smart boy like your father."

"_Thanks, I think._" He hesitated. "_I miss him too,_" it was whispered. Almost as if the reality was unbearable.

Tears blurred her vision. "Ditto."

Alex cleared his throat, his voice thick with emotion. "_I love you... Momma._"

A sliver of laughter escaped through the bitter emptiness. He hadn't called her that in many years. It felt so good to be a _Momma_ again. "I love you too, sweetheart," she trembled against the strain of grief. "Make sure you tell Nina to give me a call when she's free, okay?"

"_Okay._"

"Take care." She heard the small click and she would have felt alone but this time, there was another presence in the room with her.

Maglor.

She put the phone down and looked up, only to find him staring sadly at her from his seat. "Comfortable?" She asked, still noting that he was wet from his escapade with the shower.

The elf nodded slowly and looked about the room again. "_I fear as if I no longer recognise the world..."_ He blinked owlishly. "_I am afraid,_" he admitted quietly.

Her heart went out to him.

In his eyes she could see the bottomless pit of confusion. Questions were brought to the forefront and when answers would be given, it would only lead to more questions. He would never be satisfied with what she would tell him and _she_ would never be satisfied by the reasoning of his sudden appearance.

They would both be trapped in an endless circle of questions... At least they would be trapped together.

But first, she needed to get him dry.

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	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **Thank you for the kind reviews!

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**Sing For Me.**

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Twenty-four years.

Had it really been _twenty-four_ _years_?

The number 24 was possible to believe, but discerning the concept of _years_ left her breathless and dizzy.

There were 365 days in a year. . . For twenty-four years.

That would be 8760 days, if you didn't count leap years; she didn't.

So many days.

So many days trickled by without her noticing, like the fading grains of sand in an hour-glass built specifically for her. Almost a quarter of her life spent in utopia, with a man she considered the other half of her soul.

Like all married couples they had their spats and petty arguments; it wasn't always an easy road to travel. There were bumps and pot-holes of all sizes - the occasional deer they knocked over as they journeyed along the tricky road of matrimony. . . But as the years went by, it became easier to manoeuvre themselves around the obstacles and in the end, it was all worth it. Their final destination: _Bliss_. Marital bliss, that is.

Only, when they reached it. . . He was gone. She turned to him with her palm stretched out, ready to move forward onto the next stage of their lives together, only to find that she had lost him along the way. He was no longer there to enjoy the hard-earned victory. Her palm was left empty, grasping at nothing but air.

He just wasn't there.

Tearing her eyes away from the photo of her husband nestled at the corner of the mantelpiece, she looked at the elf that her frail mind had somehow conjured.

There are a few things that remain unimaginable to the human eye.

A so-called elf, jiggling around on your sofa, is one of them.

Where do you even begin to accept the reality of such an illusion? Any sane person would dismiss the notion completely. . . But then again, she never considered herself normal. . . and since _it_ happened, she didn't consider herself all that sane either. Filled to the brim with chemicals that cloud the mind, there was nothing overtly odd about the presence of the beautiful creature now in her midst.

Nothing _that_ beautiful could exist. Could it? His beauty, his essence, was like the first breath of spring, or a tear falling from a cheek, trapped in a prism of light.

Everything about Maglor screamed butterflies and candy-floss on a warm sunny day, where childish innocence was nurtured before it was left behind and forgotten.

So. . . He was obviously something her visions had created to torture her. Not real. But then, that didn't explain why he was with her at that very moment.

Maglor's presence was nothing short of extraordinary.

But to her - at this very moment - it was something she simply had to deal with. Like an exam, or taxes. You just deal with it and move on to the next obstacle.

Numb from the pain of loss, that was all she could do.

"Here." She held out a fluffy cream towel.

He examined the towel with something akin to fascination. It dawned in his eyes like the sun rising behind age-old trees and snowy mountain-tops. "_Thank you,"_ he took the towel and gently dabbed his face with it - the gesture looked rather effeminate.

A sigh, and his muscles relaxed. He'd obviously come to the conclusion that she hadn't handed him a killer-towel. If it didn't move - have razor sharp claws, or fangs, then it was probably safe.

Joy.

Quietly, she took a seat on the chair adjacent to the sofa.

Not knowing the standard procedure in dealing with elves, she was left at an impasse.

Where to proceed from here? Once he was dry, what then? Hand him a cup of coffee – no, wait. An elf, let alone an hyperactive elf, would not be advisable given the current situation. He was large, tall and looked extremely powerful, which would certainly be damaging for her home if he induced caffeine; a product, she was sure, he had never ingested before. So, coffee was out of the question.

Tea? Yes, tea would be a good place to start. . . Do elves drink tea?

Water. Letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding, she took the towel that was handed back to her with a small smile. "Would you. . . like something to drink, perhaps?"

"_Yes, thank you! Water. . . if you would be so kind, my lady." _It was clear that Maglor was delighted by her offer. The approval in his mien shone brightly and oddly enough, she was rather pleased to have his strangely placed approval. Of course, having the approval of a vision-come-to-life was considered very important. Wasn't it?

She shook her head.

Sarcasm had always been a failing with her. Her husband said it was one of her vices, but he loved her for it. At the thought of him, the dull ache in her chest became pronounced. Absently, she rubbed it away as she came back to the living room with a glass of tap water.

Maglor stared at the glass tumbler in his hand before cautiously taking a sip.

She watched with concern as he grimaced. "Are you all right?"

"_It tastes of metal and. . . something evil,"_ he put the full glass of water back on the table and continued to gaze at it from afar, as if he could change the contents by simply staring at it. Brow furrowed, biting his lip, he looked quite a picture of confusion.

She felt sorry for him. "I apologise. . . I have some freshly squeezed fruit juice; would you prefer that?"

"_Please_," he uttered quietly.

Restraining a sigh, she went back to the small kitchen and poured him some of her healthy, organic, fresh juice. She never liked the ones that came from packaged cartons as she didn't trust what manufacturers put into their products. After all, she had never been a very trusting individual when it came to things like that. Call it paranoia, call it obsessive. . . She called it _being_ _smart._

Returning to the living room, she offered Maglor the glass of fresh fruit juice – orange and grapefruit.

He took a dainty sip, and with much more satisfaction, downed the entire contents of the glass in one go.

It was a mystery how some people could allow liquid to slide down their throats without a pause for air. She'd always been jealous of those who possessed that certain party-trick. Her eye twitched at the thought.

With an air of nobility, Maglor wiped his mouth and placed the empty glass next to the water-filled one. Turning to her, he smiled almost shyly. "_My thanks."_

So polite.

Such manners were missing with the new generation. She smiled back. "You're very welcome. . . sir."

He laughed. "_Please, Maglor will suffice._"

"As you wish." She paused. "Was the juice to your taste?"

The elf all but beamed, "_It was quite refreshing, my lady! Much better than,"_ he gestured awkwardly at the glass of water. He hesitated before speaking again, "_Pray tell me - for it seems that I have not been in the circles of the world for many a generation - what Age is this?"_

Come again? She slowly sat down in her previous seat. "I'm sorry, I don't understand, _Age_?"

"_The year,"_ he supplied, almost as if he was talking to a child. But if he mentioned generations, then she could guess that he was older than he appeared. How that was possible, she had no idea. He barely looked 25. Damned elf-vision, with his charming manners and youthful appearance.

"The year is 2006, A.D."

"_Ah_. . . _And you have no notion of the Age?"_

"There is no such thing as an Age."

His eyes widened, almost comically. "_Then_ _many years must have passed for the Ages to have been forgotten by mortals."_

He looked lost; she felt lost for him. She had no idea what he was mumbling to himself about. Feeling out of sorts, she leaned forward expectantly. "Are you telling me that you're not from another world?"

"_I am from the Ages past."_

"So, you're saying that you are from the _past_? As in, history, _the past_?" She asked dumbly.

"_I have walked the shores for many millennia,"_ Maglor began quietly, his voice and expression filled with deeply embedded sorrow. Oh, the sorrow poured from him in waves, threatening to engulf her.

He continued, "_I walked until my body faded, but still I continued my song. My grief was not bound to my body, and so it lingered – as did my spirit. Ages would begin anew and end before the next time I could reappear and reforge my grief and body as one. It was my punishment, you see. And now. . . now, too many Ages have passed since my last return, and I am in a world that I no longer recognise." _Deftly, he gestured wearily at the features of her house.

She listened to his words, rapt with attention. _Punishment? Millennia_? She almost scoffed.

It was official.

Alert the world media and put her on the evening news; hell, make a website and dedicate it solely to her, because she had just legally lost her marbles. Over a vision. She'd had these visions previously, but this was nothing like her past experiences. It was making her _feel_, it was a living, breathing _person_, almost frightening in it's reality.

And she would have to be blind, deaf, stupid and manic-depressive not to notice how greatly his grief and desolation were weighing down on him – this vision. This elf. Maglor. Poor, poor, Maglor.

Blinking, she slumped back into the wicker chair.

The day had taken an even more confusing turn.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Note:** Again, thanks to those that have reviewed and offer their support.

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**Sing For Me.**

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"_I'm a bird!"_

"_I see that." He stepped up beside her, a smile tugging at his lips as he kissed her temple. "You'd make an excellent bird if you weren't lacking feathers, a beak, and more importantly, wings."_

"_I'd look good with wings."_

"_But not with a beak," he assured._

_She laughed, arms still stretched out, icy wind blowing directly into her face. Her hair streamed out behind her like a muddied flag billowing in the breeze. She was a pillar and banner of happiness and exuberance. Hopefully she wouldn't topple over into the sea. That would be. . . Cold, and wet. Not ideal in the least._

_She laughed again, unable to stop._

_The view was beyond beautiful. _

_It was legendary._

_Brown eyes fixed to the west, the setting sun illuminated the sandy rock cliffs below their feet. A hundred meters down from where they stood, an infinite body of deep sapphire water churned in the vast expanse of the ocean, rippling like liquid flames against the fragmented amber rays._

"_What do you think?"_

_She tilted her head, eyes never leaving the spectacular vista. "It's. . ." What did she think? There weren't enough words to describe what she thought! "It's. . ." She sighed loudly; a long exhale filled with wonder and awe._

"_I'm so glad you think it's," he mimicked her deep, feminine sigh._

_She thumped his arm, shaking her head. "You are incorrigible."_

"_And yet, here you are. With me."_

_Eyes rolling, she pulled him close and pressed her chapped lips firmly against his. _

_They melted into the kiss, like butter sliding down heated skin. Drawing back, she stared up at pale blue eyes that flickered with amusement. _

"_It is magnificent. I've never seen anything so. . . so magical. Thank you for this," she paused, "For everything."_

_Lips bound together again; passion simmered beneath the surface, like hidden mythical sea-creatures dwelling in their pearly kingdoms below the frantic waves._

_He smiled broadly, playfully nipping and pulling away, gasping. "I should bring you to more of these places," he breathed, "If this is the response I get."_

"_Down boy," she murmured, eyes twinkling. "Or should I call you a dirty old man?"_

_He grew serious, looking away. "I'm glad you like it here."_

_Something in his voice made her stop. "Why? What is it? Is something wrong?"_

"_I know I shouldn't have. . . But I went ahead and bought that villa by the ocean; the one we saw last week."_

_Relief. "I thought we had decided only to look," she chided softly. "We're not exactly going to retire this very minute."_

_Shrugging, "Another couple were also vying for it. It was just perfect and I couldn't let. . ." Her thumb on his mouth silenced him._

"_I'm not angry," the soft tone caused him to relax. "In fact, I'm deliriously happy you decided to buy it!" Suddenly beaming, she leaped forward and threw her arms about him._

_He laughed and stumbled. "Careful!"_

"_Mr. Archer," she whispered into the soft shell of his ear, "You should know by now that I'm never careful."_

"_Oh believe me," he patted her bottom, "I've known from the beginning."_

_-_

Memories.

Memories are what build and shape a person. The nature of those memories, is the core essence in defining what and who a person becomes when they reach maturity. As the years shuffle along, each added memory on the perilous path of life is a poignant lesson, taught to guide us to an ultimate inner peace where we may feel no regret for the life we led.

If blessed - lying old and crippled in bed, it will perhaps be those same memories that bring comfort.

Like during the times when death was nothing but a dream to a young and carefree spirit. Where you lived your life without a single thought for the future, tearing through each and every day as it was hurled at you. In that time, along with all the youthful exploits, death would be so distant and so far away. But even then it would linger precariously above the head like an invisible storm-cloud, waiting for the day, the hour, the minute, the very second it could burst. Yet still, no pause was given, no hint of recognition that it was noticed.

So it will be, at the single moment before breathing the last breath, you can summon up the courage to remember all that has transcended in the past. To accept every memory, whether it be cherished or wretched. Whether is brings an ocean of tears to the eyes, or laughter so loud that the very ground trembles and shakes. And just as the breath is let out, every single memory can be sighed away. The person formed by those past experiences finds peace and contentment before they are. . . gone.

But until that time, until you can let go, there will be many memories that may not bring an ounce of solace, nor peace in the cold light of day.

What happens then? Do you still remember and allow it to consume you? Or do you bury it away - lock it up in a dark corner of your mind and forget about it for the remaining years of your life, until the day you close to death? If so, then nothing will have been achieved and no lesson will have been learnt. . . And that was the crux of the problem.

To forget or to remember?

"_My lady?"_

She blinked. Sighed. And frowned.

Why do unwanted memories always have the unusual propensity to sneak up on a person, at any given moment? It beggared belief that her own mind could be so rude as to intrude upon her thoughts. Especially when they needed to be focused elsewhere.

"I'm sorry, Maglor."

"_Are you well? You look rather pale." _

Do not snap at the elf. Do not snap at the elf. . . Do not snap at the elf or he might snap _you_ like a twig.

Do. Not. Snap. At. The. Elf.

Reining in her annoyance, she smiled thinly. "I'm fine. . . just trapped in unpleasant memories." For some reason, she could not lie. Who would have the gall to be dishonest to such a pure creature?

Maglor nodded sagely, grey eyes filled with understanding. "_We all harbour such painful recollections,"_ he murmured. "_It is Eru's way of reminding us that the past cannot be forgotten. It should not be forgotten."_

She looked at him shrewdly.

Riddle, riddle, cat with a fiddle. . . Except that this particular cat was in the guise of an elf, and he was one orchestra short of a fiddle. What was he hiding? Who or what was _Eru_? He brought up more questions than he answered.

Such remorse, such regret shining in those perfect grey eyes! It spilled from his pores like molten ash gurgling forth from a volcano of constant remembrance, so painful and gut-wrenching.

Would he tell his tale? Or would he recoil from her questions and disappear?

"Do you have memories that you _shouldn't_ forget?" She asked boldly.

He chuckled mirthlessly. "_Again, it seems I have forgotten that mortals are rather forward._"

She reddened, embarrassed by the light reprimand. "I don't mean to pry. But it's not every day that I come across an elf," she muttered wryly.

Maglor's eyes bored into her. "_Nor will you, or any of your people. My kin have long since departed._" He smiled then, sadly. "_I am the only elf you will ever have the privilege to 'come across', my lady."_

Hoping she hadn't made some ridiculous faux-pas, she lowered her head in acquiescence. "Then I am glad to have met you." He wasn't even real, but he was still making her feel like a young child.

Nodding slowly, he acknowledged her deferring retreat with grace. "_I will offer you a trade,"_ he announced suddenly. "_Teach me about this Age, and I shall offer to speak of the past that you clearly desire to know._"

He had caught her. The wheels turning in her head. She wanted something from him; he wanted something from her. It was a win-win situation. Hopefully.

She didn't correct him when he used the word '_Age_' - some things were hard to accept if you believed differently all your life. And she didn't think he would take kindly to being corrected by her.

So instead, she accepted his offer. "Fine. I'll tell you everything I know, in return for the knowledge you have." This should be interesting. She wondered what lunacy he would be able to make up. Millennia, indeed!

As if catching her thoughts, the elf almost smirked coldly. "_Be forewarned_," his voice was stern. "_Once you learn, you cannot unlearn. That is the curse of the mind." _The ominous bearing of his expression cast a ghostly chill through her veins.

"Is it really that bad?"

For some reason, she knew that he was getting the better end of the deal. And that before the end, she was going to regret asking him questions about his life, his past and his people.

"_It is not bad, my lady. It is worse. Much, much worse."_

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